


muslin tree

by couldaughter



Series: author's choice [8]
Category: Holby City
Genre: Getting Together, Holby City Typical Emotional Dissonance, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M, medical handwaving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 20:21:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13442622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/couldaughter/pseuds/couldaughter
Summary: “Thanks, Sacha,” he said, turning, still scrubbing his hands together. “Right, I really need to finish those patient profiles from earlier, before I had my - break.”“Dom.” Sacha put a hand on his shoulder. Dom took a deep breath, felt his eyes sting for the first time that day.“Don’t.” Dom shook his head. “I need to get through this shift, then we can have a proper scene somewhere that isnot here.”





	muslin tree

**Author's Note:**

> warning: isaac's abuse of dom is referenced both directly and implicitly throughout much of the fic. he is only 'onscreen' for one scene, beginning with 'Eventually, of course, the side bay ran out of other beds to sit by.' and ending with 'Goodbye, Mr Mayfield"'.

Dom had grown used, over the years, to knowing how a day was going to go within five minutes of waking up.

There was a certain intangible quality to the air, a heaviness that settled around him like a tumour constricting a vein, that let him know he was about to have a monumentally shite day. It was with that unpleasant sensation somewhere in the vicinity of his sternum that he got to Keller, just in time for his shift, sans coffee.

That was the first real, tangible bad thing about the day. _Can’t wait for whatever else lies in store_ , he thought, feeling an incongruous smile forming.

“Morning, Sacha,” he called as he passed the nurse’s station. Sacha was talking to Essie, who looked a little better than she had been for the past few months. That was fair enough, considering Raf, but it was nice to see that she was getting better, however slowly it might have seemed.

Dom had no idea when he’d gotten so sentimental. It was probably a good thing, but it had taken a lot of fun out of his day-to-day life.

Sacha looked up with a grin. “Dom! You doing okay?”

Dom nodded. “Oh, just peachy,” he said, shrugging one shoulder. He’d woken up horrifically early that morning, well before his alarm, the remnants of an unpleasant dream lingering in the shadow cast by his bedside lamp. “Six in the morning isn’t exactly my happy hour.”

Sacha laughed. “I don’t think it’s anybody’s, Dom. Right, we’ve got a pretty busy schedule today - I’ve put you up for Mr Harris’s laparotomy as soon as possible, then we’ve got quite a few patient assessments to get sorted.” He looked down at his clipboard, with a sudden, faint frown. “Hmm, looks like we’ll be getting a little bit more busy later on today.”

Dom craned his neck. “What’s up?”

“Prisoner transfer,” said Sacha. “Not much more detail than that, unfortunately, we haven’t got the files through yet. Clerical error.”

There was a distinct sinking feeling in Dom’s stomach. “Right. Well, I’d better scrub in for Mr Harris, then. Who’s assisting?”

“Lofty,” said Sacha.

Dom smiled at that, despite himself. “He’s back, then?”

“Yep,” Sacha replied, smiling back. “Keep your hands to Mr Harris in there, Doctor Copeland.”

Dom put one hand to his chest. “ _Sacha_. I am a consummate professional!”

“Whatever you say.” Sacha turned back to the nurse’s station with a twinkle in his eye.

With a dismissive sigh, Dom turned towards the theatre. There were better things to worry about than Lofty’s imminent return to Keller, even if Dom’s traitorous heart was taking care to remind him exactly how it made him feel.

It’d get him admitted to Darwin if it didn’t stop skipping beats.

Dom was barely halfway through scrubbing in when Lofty came through the theatre doors, hair as messy as always, scrubs unusually flat and unwrinkled.

“Making a good impression on your first day back, Nurse Chiltern?”

Lofty smiled at Dom. Dom promptly forgot how to breathe for a moment, as he usually did around Lofty. It was very annoying.

“I don’t know, Doctor Copeland. Is it working?” Lofty was still smiling, almost _too_ blandly.

Dom narrowed his eyes.

“Is this the new Lofty? Likes to tease the registrars before surgery?” Finally having washed up to his elbows, Dom stepped back from the sink. and turned towards theatre.

Lofty, still at the sink, shrugged. “Always worth trying something new, isn’t it?”

Dom smiled. “Oh, definitely.”

 

* * *

 

The laparotomy had gone well, as far as Lofty was concerned . While it had initially been solely an exploratory surgery, they’d quickly found the source of Mr Harris’s abdominal pain - a spleen in desperate need of removal - and dealt with it in usual Holby fashion. Not without a touch of drama, but successful in the end.

Now he was back on the ward, at the nurse’s station. Dom was also at the nurse’s station, something that had become more and more common since Christmas. It was nice, being around him.

Even if it made Lofty want things that were both deeply unprofessional and, frankly, a little overwhelming.

“So, what’s the plan for the rest of the day?” Lofty asked, leaning back on his chair just slightly. He’d learned his lesson about chair-leaning the fifth time one had come out from under him in secondary school.

“Oh, you know, cocktails at 11, massage in the early afternoon,” said Dom, who was frowning down at an admissions sheet.

Lofty peered over. “What’s that?”

“Hmm?” Dom looked up, eyes distant. “Oh, we’re getting a prisoner transfer today. The data only just came through. Sacha mentioned a, uh, clerical error.”

“Well, better late than never, right?” Lofty hadn’t been told anything about a prisoner being admitted, but then he was bound to be a bit out of the loop, his first day back on Keller.

Dom hummed thoughtfully. “Would you take a look at it? I have to go start these patient assessments.” With that, and a bland parting smile, he walked off towards the side bay.

Lofty looked down at the admissions sheet.

He looked again.

Dom was nowhere to be seen. Lofty clattered out of his chair and ran after him.

 

* * *

 

The roof was very cold in early spring. Dom had known this for a few years, of course, given the hospital staff’s preoccupation with using the roof as a catch-all destination for arguments, soulful conversations and quick smoke breaks, but it still took him by surprise just how sharp the chill could be, so far off the ground.

He shivered, slightly, pulling his grey hoodie closer around him. It wasn’t entirely from the cold.

Isaac was never far from Dom’s thoughts, even over half a year after he’d last seen him in person. A shadow, always ready to interfere with Dom’s day when he least expected it, chip away at the fragile calm he’d managed to piece together in the long months since.

It pissed him off, to be frank. But being pissed off didn’t change the hollow terror creeping up Dom’s throat at the thought of seeing him again.

The worst thing about life since, Dom mused, pressing back against the cold metal of the stair rail, was the uncertainty. Isaac had really fucked him up, obviously, that was something everyone pretty much took for granted, but no one really seemed to get just how badly.

Zosia had been the closest, Dom was pretty sure, but then she’d left for America and he’d been left to sort out his feelings without her beside him, letting him know when he was being a bloody moron. The steroids had seemed like a very good idea at first, without her to realise what was going on and kick him until he gave it up.

The uncertainty of what Isaac was going to be like on any given day had expanded, eventually, to a kind of general distrust. Who knew what Sacha might be like, tomorrow, when Isaac had managed to turn a full one-eighty practically every shift?

It was ridiculous, thought Dom, but that didn’t stop his synapses from firing wildly every so often. Even Lofty, kind, gentle, safe Lofty had startled him a few times, left him doubting his actual intentions. It was insane, really. Lofty was probably incapable of hiding anything, the way he let his feelings translate out of his face.

A clatter behind him. Dom felt his shoulders contract, just slightly, ready for - well, he didn’t like to presume what he was readying himself for. Made him feel even more like a battered housewife than usual.

“Dom.” Oh.

“Fancy seeing you all the way up here,” said Dom. His voice was hoarse, like he’d been crying. He touched his cheeks, fingers coming away dry. Just the feeling, then. “Don’t worry. I’m just being a little dramatic. I think I’ve got license to be.”

Lofty sat down beside him on the steps, leaving a careful distance between them. Dom appreciated it while also, guiltily, wanting him pressed up against him, an arm over his shoulders, his own face pressed into Lofty’s neck. It was tricky, the dance they’d been doing around each other.

“Of course you’ve got the right,” said Lofty, adamantly. His voice was low and careful, though, obviously calculated. It made Dom feel coddled, put his hackles up almost before he could think about it.

“I don’t need -” Dom began, feeling his lips curl just slightly. He froze, then pressed his face into his hands. “Sorry,” he continued, slightly muffled. “I’m feeling just a bit, um, tense.”

“Reasonably,” replied Lofty, inching closer. “Look, there’s got to be something we can do, right? Sacha’ll blow his lid when he finds out who’s coming onto his ward.”

Dom smiled, faintly. The image of Sacha angry on his behalf was compelling, he had to admit. “I just don’t want to think about it, to be honest. Maybe if I stay up here long enough it won’t happen.”

“Some people would say you should face reality.” Lofty didn’t seem to agree with ‘some people’, from his tone, but it still made Dom straighten a little, lean away from him.

“And what do you think?” The curl in his lip was returning, again unbidden. He was still shivering, a little.

“I think you can do whatever the hell you want,” said Lofty, frankly. Dom looked across, startled. There was a tense look in Lofty’s eyes, a firm set to his mouth. Dom realised, with sudden clarity, that this was only the second time he’d seen Lofty angry. “He shouldn’t be at this hospital in the first place, let alone being admitted on your ward. I don’t care what’s wrong with him, they should’ve left him in the prison infirmary and - well, maybe I shouldn’t say.”

“No,” said Dom. “You’re making a compelling case for death by medical negligence. What do you think, are you up to sharing a cell with Ric?”

Lofty smiled at him. Even in the circumstances, Dom still felt himself smile back, helplessly. What else was he supposed to do?

“I don’t think I’d be very good in prison.” Lofty shrugged. “I was always terrible at sharing my room with anybody.”

“The curse of the only child,” said Dom with a rusty laugh. “Sharing with my cousin was always miserable. Although she did have a killer nail polish collection.”

“Sounds ideal,” Lofty said. He paused, and Dom saw him hunch a little more into his hoodie. It really was very cold. “You ready to go back in?”

Dom closed his eyes briefly. His ribs were aching in remembered pain. There was a persistent throbbing behind his eye, and his breathing was still uneven and slightly ragged. “About as ready as I’ll ever be,” he shrugged. “Thank you, for coming to find me.”

Lofty shook his head. “What else was I supposed to do?”

 _God_ , thought Dom. _What am I going to do about you?_

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sacha was making rounds when they arrived back on the ward, slightly windswept. Lofty was fairly sure his hair always looked slightly windswept and so he had at least some plausible deniability, but Dom - really didn’t look well. 

He was still giving Lofty palpitations, of course, because Lofty’s heart really didn’t have a conceptual understanding of ‘time’ or ‘place’, but his eyes were pink and his skin, already fairly pale from the trials of English weather, was pale as hospital linen.

“Morning, Sacha,” said Lofty, breezing past him towards the nurse’s station. The transfer papers were still on the desk; the clipboard was unfairly menacing, considering its completely bland appearance. Lofty almost wished it had fangs, or something. At least then his reluctance to pick it up could’ve been easily explained away. “Could you come over here for a sec?”

Dom had disappeared in the direction of the staff room, probably for the fortifying cup of tea Lofty had suggested, desperately, on the way down. Dom had been retreating just a little more with every floor, visibly closing himself off. It was heartbreaking but not, after all, surprising. Isaac wasn’t due for transfer for another half an hour, but that just meant putting off the inevitable.

Lofty wasn’t sure how _he_ was going to react, let alone what Dom might do. He imagined Dom was feeling the same way.

Sacha nodded and followed, anyway, his grey hair and colourful shirt a comforting, familiar sight as Lofty reached for the offending clipboard and made a show of flipping through the paperwork.

“What’s the matter?” Sacha asked, sotto voce.

Lofty let the pages fall back into place, revealing the transfer information once again.

Sacha’s face clouded over. It was slightly terrifying, up close, to see the usually open face close off so swiftly.

“Does Dom know?” Sacha asked, leaning in closer.

Lofty nodded. “He found out first of all.” He sighed, scrubbed at his face with one hand. “I talked him down, I think he’s in the staff room at the moment. Look, is there something you can - do? I mean, this can’t be allowed, right?”

“I’ll see what I can do, but it may well be we’ll have to admit him before we can move him anywhere. He may not be an acute admission but it could still be dangerous to leave him without medical attention too long.” Sacha paused for a moment, looked down at the desk. “Not that that would be a bad thing,” he finished, in a much lower tone.

Lofty hummed in quiet agreement. He wasn’t used to carrying anger around so often, usually let things roll off him like water off a duck’s back, but this was - different. For obvious reasons.

His family had always called him a bleeding heart. He’d never really understood the phrase until now, stood on the ward, feeling like something was leaking anger into his chest cavity.

“Right, well,” said Sacha, still stiff backed and narrow-eyed. “I’d better get off and finish my rounds. It seems my attention will be - divided, pretty soon. Let me know when we get the call, alright?”

“Will do,” said Lofty, trying to inject some kind of emotion other than reluctance. He wasn’t very successful. Sacha gave him a look of complete understanding, then turned and went to check on Mr Harris, post-op, minus one spleen.

Lofty went to the staff room. Dom was in fact there, slowly sipping a cup of tea, hands mostly steady. Lofty knocked softly on the door, not wanting to cause any mishaps with the tea, or the mug. They’d been running short on them with Lofty there - in his defense, not that anyone listened, they were fairly slippery ceramics.

Dom looked up, eyes fractionally wider, then smiled and softened. It was almost imperceptible, the ways he did it, but Lofty was getting fairly fluent in the language of Dom - the slight lowering of shoulders, the very faint curl of the start of a smile.

“Hello again,” he said, an echo of cheerfulness in his voice. “Checking up on me?”

There was an edge there, still. Lofty remembered an offhand comment Dom had made, once, about it being nice to get a free minute to himself without someone checking in on him.

He hadn’t thought anything of it at the time. He hadn’t been around when Isaac was, had missed him by a few short weeks. It was amazing, how he still had a hold on parts of Dom, so long afterwards.

It made Lofty’s blood boil.

“Just getting a cuppa,” he said, gesturing towards the kettle. “Still warm?”

“Probably,” Dom replied. “Only made this about five minutes ago. Overbrewed it a little, to be honest,” he continued, wrinkling his nose.

“Oooh, bad luck,” said Lofty, as he poured milk into a polystyrene cup. He paused. “I talked to Sacha.”

“Oh?” Dom was focusing on his tea again, a frown creasing his forehead.

“He’s going to see what he can do. Get him transferred, hopefully.”

“I - Thank you,” said Dom, mouth twisted slightly. “Wish they’d thought of that before sending that - that bastard here in the first place.” It clearly cost him something to mention Isaac at all, even to curse him.

Lofty took the seat beside him. “Do you want to go off shift? We could definitely find someone to switch, I reckon Meena’d do anything for you these days.”

Dom huffed a laugh, then shook his head. “No, I… Okay, this might be hard to explain.”

“Try me,” said Lofty. He inched a little closer to Dom. “I promise, whatever you say, your feelings in this situation are one hundred percent not mine to judge.”

“Right. Thank you.” Dom took a deep breath, and one last sip of his tea. “I’ve spent - so much, of the time since I last saw him, trying not to think about him. I think maybe if I face him this one last time I’ll feel like - I’ll feel like I’ve actually _finished_  it. Last time I saw him I was in a bloody wheelchair, for God’s sake. Hanssen was next to me. I was hardly in a position of strength. I want to be able to say - look at me, look at me, I’m so much better off without your, your fucking horrifying presence in my life.” His mouth twisted, again, and he shut his eyes.

Lofty took a deep breath of his own, let it out. “Dom, I’ve got to ask - are you absolutely sure? You know we - me and Sacha and, and everybody on the ward - are behind whatever you choose.”

“Yeah,” said Dom, eyes still shut. “I think I’m ready for it. And if not, what better time will I have? He’s going to be stuck in a bed. Maybe he’ll have some broken ribs - poetic justice, right?” He laughed, a high, breathy sound. He opened his eyes.

Almost on instinct, Lofty reached out a hand. Dom shrank back, slightly, then moved deliberately towards him. “Look, there’s not much help I can offer you, but - do you mind a hug? No pressure.”

“Lofty,” said Dom, infinitely patient. “There is literally nothing I want more right now.”

With a relieved sigh, Lofty pulled Dom into his arms. He tucked his chin on top of Dom’s head, let him rest his full weight against his chest.

Dom relaxed into him. It felt like trust, distilled into one easy motion. A lump caught in Lofty’s throat.

 

* * *

 

9:00am wasn't usually a time Dom thought of with dread in his heart. It was a great time to start a shift, with enough time for an actual breakfast beforehand, and no matter what time of year it was usually light outside by the time it rolled around. 

That didn't stop him from excusing himself to the locker room when the clock struck. Soon enough the ward would be invaded and he figured he could get away with a few minutes spent with his head between his knees, deep breaths in and out, before he had to be brave.

“Hi, Dom,” said Essie, settling in beside him on the on call bunk.

Dom lifted his head. “Essie. Sorry I'm not exactly my usual flawless self, I know seeing me is such a highlight of you day.”

Essie smiled. “You're a highlight of my day no matter how you look, you silly man.” She rested a careful hand on his shoulder. “We got the call - he's being escorted up.”

“Any news on what's wrong with him? I mean, besides the obvious.” Dom wasn't used to so much emotional honesty in a day. Honestly it was just as exhausting as ever, but he got the impression he wasn't done with it yet.

Essie, ever obliging, laughed. “Probable oesophageal tumour. Likely benign, but we can always hope.”

“We should be so lucky,” said Dom. His voice cracked slightly as he spoke. “Ugh, I am a mess today. Even before this shit came out, it's just been a crap day all around.”

“Bad mental health day?” Essie suggested, gently.

Dom sighed. “Something like that.” He didn't think he could describe exactly how he was feeling out loud - God knew he'd never got into the habit of it - but Essie’s suggestion was succinct and, he could admit, if only to himself, fairly accurate. “I had a dream last night. Sort of ruined the morning before reality got a chance to do it.”

Essie made a sympathetic noise, pulled from the back of her throat. Dom shrugged. “Not much to be done about it now. Maybe I'll wake up again and find out this was all part of the same dream.”

He never really remembered his dreams, thank God, but that didn’t stop them from ruining his day.

In unison, their pagers beeped. Essie glanced at hers, a frown instantly forming. “Looks like we’re needed out there,” she said gently. Dom was getting a little tired of gentleness, but he still appreciated the effort. “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” replied Dom, pushing himself to his feet. “Can’t stay in here forever. How will I ever make consultant from the on-call bed?”

“In a soap you could probably sleep your way to the top,” said Essie, with an almost cheerful wink.

Dom rolled his eyes. “Been there, tried that. It’s a lot less fun than you might imagine.”

“Come on, then.” Essie pulled open the door. “I’ll be right nearby if you need me, alright? Same with anyone on the ward.”

“Thanks, Essie,” replied Dom. His shoes sounded almost deafeningly loud against the hospital linoleum. It was probably all in his head, but it still made him wince a bit.

The ward was just as brightly lit as always, fluorescent lighting buzzing merrily away from the ceiling, but that didn’t stop it from feeling like a dark, deadbolted room, the closer Dom got to the side bay.

He still wasn’t sure what he was supposed to _do_. He certainly wasn’t going to be handling the case - lax precedent or not, the idea of touching Isaac again (of being near him at all, to be honest) sent his stomach doing cartwheels - but he couldn’t just stay hidden, let Isaac think he’d still won, somehow.

Zosia would probably know what to do. Or at least, Zosia would give him an idea and he could use it to figure out what he wanted. He’d call, but the time difference would put Zosia at 4am - not exactly the best time for a heart to heart, considering the workload Yale had her carrying.

He didn’t want to worry her, anyway. She had enough on her plate worrying about Ollie’s recovery - almost walking again, as far as Dom knew, still listening to The Saturdays and counselling Meena’s F1 friend on cardiac events.

“Hi, Sacha,” he said as he passed by Sacha at the nurse’s station, chatting to Meena. “How’s Mr Harris?”

“Looks to be recovering well - no sign of infection setting in, and very grateful to have the abdominal pain sorted out,” Sacha replied. “Sorry, Meena, if you could just give us a second? Maybe go chase up that abdo scan for Mrs Thomas in bed 6, alright?”

“Can do, Mr Levy,” said Meena, bobbing her head. Her makeup routine had grown a little simpler over the month she’d been an F1, but Dom was still impressed by the precision she managed to put into it and keep up over the course of the day.

Sacha watched as she bustled off towards the lifts, then turned back to Dom, head tilted. “Right. I’ve called down to reception, they’re going to work on a transfer but there’s been a bed shortage at St Francis - that’s the reason he’s even here in the first place.” He shook his head, mouth a thin line. Dom wasn’t sure how to feel about having so many people angry on his behalf.

Dom bit his lip. It was a bad habit, certainly, but not one he wanted to give up. “Oesophageal tumour, right? What’s the prognosis?”

Sacha frowned. “Depends on the nature of the tumour, obviously. It’s been caught fairly early, but either way the prospect for total excision is low - too risky for the integrity of the oesophagus. Could get transferred to oncology, when the scans come back.”

“And when’s that likely to be?” Dom asked. He could feel his fingers twisting together, an anxious gesture he was fairly used to. “I don’t - I really don’t want him on the ward, Sacha. I don’t think Hippocrates would judge me if I say that, right?”

“Well, whatever he’d think, I don’t judge you at all.” Sacha was still frowning, but in a less looming and more fatherly way. Not that Dom would ever admit that part out loud. He valued his reputation at the hospital far too much for that.

“Thanks, Sacha,” he said, turning, still scrubbing his hands together. “Right, I really need to finish those patient profiles from earlier, before I had my - break.”

“Dom.” Sacha put a hand on his shoulder. Dom took a deep breath, felt his eyes sting for the first time that day.

“Don’t.” Dom shook his head. “I need to get through this shift, then we can have a proper scene somewhere that is _not here_.”

“Alright,” said Sacha, softly. “See you later, Dom.”

“Yeah,” Dom said, absently. “See ya.”

He paused, then called after Sacha. “I’m going to talk to him, you know.”

Sacha turned back, an unreadable expression on his face. “I thought you would. Don’t - don’t do anything you’ll regret, Dom. He’s not worth it.”

Dom nodded, just slightly. Sacha nodded back, and left.

He wasn’t sure what he was going to say, to be honest. He’d been truthful when he told Lofty he wanted to prove something to Isaac, but that didn’t mean he knew _how_.

According to the board, Isaac was set up in the side bay, tucked in a back corner with his supervising officer and a saline IV. The patient profiles for the main ward only took an hour, even when Dom took his time with his handwriting; by half ten he was in the entry to the side bay, eyes fixed on the closest bed which thankfully did not contain anyone he knew, ex or otherwise.

It was easy enough to distract himself as he worked his way through the last of the profiles, anyway, making careful notes of symptoms and pre-existing conditions, and doing his best to present as his normal charming self even when he mostly felt like running and hiding somewhere far, far away from Holby City Hospital.

Eventually, of course, the side bay ran out of other beds to sit by.

“Good morning, Mr Mayfield.” Dom kept his eyes on his notes, but he could still see the way Isaac shifted in his peripheral vision, opened his eyes and narrowed them in quick succession.

“Hello, Dominic,” he said, in a tone Dom had once found charming. It made his skin feel two sizes too small, now, made his shoulders hunch ever so slightly.

“It’s Doctor Copeland, thank you.” He tapped his pen against the clipboard, a show of thoughtfulness. “Now, I’ve just got to get some details sorted out before your transfer.”

“My… transfer?”

Dom nodded. He forced himself to breathe evenly. Not long left now. “Of course. Considering your - your history with the ward, Mr Levy thinks it best you not be treated by the staff of this hospital.”

“Oh, Sacha does think that, does he?” Isaac was leaning forward, now, the supervising officer behind him becoming more alert by the second.

Dom raised his eyebrows. “I don’t think you get to be on first name terms with anyone here, Mr Mayfield. And no, he thinks it might be… hazardous, to your health.”

“Is that so?” Isaac pushed himself up on his elbows. Dom noticed the wince as his IV pulled. Good.

He hummed an affirmation. “Now, we have a fairly comprehensive report of your symptoms here. I just thought I’d come and see how you’re - settling in.”

“Oh, really, Dom? That’s all you have to say?”

“I assure you, Mr Mayfield,” said Dom, feeling his fingers start to shake. “I have plenty of things to say to you.”

“Then say them. It’s not like I can do anything to you just lying here, is it?”

Dom swallowed, convulsively. His ribs were still aching, a phantom pain. The crunch of Arthur’s medal against gravel. “I think we both know that’s not true.” His words were clipped, final. He stood up, the rattle of the clipboard in his hands suitably grounding. “One of the nurses will be by later, if you’re feeling more… co-operative, by then. Goodbye, Mr Mayfield.”

He’d thought, before the conversation, that he wanted a fight. It was odd to realise that what he really wanted was to deny Isaac one. The feeling of finally getting the last word hadn’t quite set in yet, but the abstract idea of it was almost intoxicating enough on its own.

He didn’t really register the walk back to the staff room, or flicking on the kettle with shaking fingers, or the echo of Isaac calling after him. The first thing he properly noticed was Lofty kneeling down in front of him, pressing a mug of tea into his hands.

“Dom?” Lofty’s voice was soft. It reminded Dom of the way he had been taught to speak to people in shock, way back in medical school, before he’d chosen to specialise somewhere where that wasn’t a skill needed in abundance.

He’d never been that good at it. Lofty was clearly a natural.

He wrapped his fingers more firmly around the mug. It was trembling, he realised absently. Probably because of the shivers he was beginning to feel travelling up his arms, fingertips to scapulae.

“Mmmm?”

“I’m not sure you should’ve done that,” Lofty continued, still kneeling in front of Dom, reaching out a hand to rest on his knee. “But I’m bloody impressed you did.”

Dom ran his tongue across his teeth. It felt muffled in an unpleasant, eerie way. “Thanks, I think,” he said, mouth working doubly harder than usual to form the sounds. “I’m not sure I should’ve done it either.”

“It’s been about twenty minutes and Sacha is just about ready to kill someone with his bare hands, I’m pretty sure,” said Lofty, hand still on Dom’s knee. He could feel it, at least. It was comforting, the way Lofty always was. Even when they were shouting at each other, Dom could be fairly confident Lofty wouldn’t hate him when they were done.

It was true going the other way, obviously. Dom the-opposite-of-hated Lofty no matter what, as he had clearly established.

“We’ve got the transfer order through, anyway,” Lofty continued. “Probably related to Sacha looking ready to kill, I reckon. He can be scary when he really needs to be.”

“It’s the height,” said Dom thoughtfully. “Involuntary response to the natural looming he gets done on a daily basis.”

“He does at that,” laughed Lofty. “Anyway, it’s all sorted. Just a few more hours. Maybe even before end of shift, and he’ll be gone.” His face sobered, mouth pulled in at the corners.

Dom looked up, met Lofty’s eyes. “Thanks for checking in,” he said, and meant it. “You’ve got your job to do, I don’t mean to - to pull you away from it with all this bullshit.”

“Are you kidding?” Lofty looked momentarily baffled. “You’re my friend, Dom, of course I’m here right now. I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

Dom blinked. His eyes were stinging again, the traitors. “Thanks, Lofty,” he said, the odd feeling of detachment beginning to fade. It was a test, probably, to his resolve, having Lofty so close by and not being allowed to do anything about it.

Definitely not a good day for that kind of thing. Then again, when was it ever going to be a good day for it?

Working at Holby, Dom had realised, was pretty much guaranteed a serious crisis a month, if not a fortnight, and for all that they all still, somehow, spun on, found time for themselves in the midst of blackouts and - and shootings, and all the other horrible things that kept happening.

If there was no such thing as a good time to do something - did that mean that, equally, there wasn’t really such a thing as a bad time? It was at least worth considering.

“No problem, Dom,” said Lofty with another smile. He stood up, knees almost audibly creaking. Dom smiled back, and gulped some of his tea. It had cooled considerably while they’d been sat, staring at each other.

“Right.” Dom stood up himself, draining the mug as he went. “Let’s finish this shift in style. Have a good one, Nurse Chiltern.”

“You too, Doctor Copeland.” Lofty was still smiling, softly. It made Dom want to do all kinds of stupid, reckless things.

Maybe he would, once the shift was done.

 

* * *

 

The next fews hours crept by at an agonising pace. 

Thankfully, there was no medical emergency in the side bay for Lofty or Dom or anyone else to attend to, but that didn’t stop his gaze from being drawn back, inexorably, to the doorway into the place.

Lofty was fairly sure this was the longest period of sustained anger in his life, at this point. There was a fizzing feeling still zipping down his spine at intervals, a heavy weight in his chest.

Isaac Mayfield’s second hospital transfer of the day took place half an hour before the end of Lofty’s shift, and therefore, obviously, Dom’s. Sacha had been on the warpath all day, of course. It was obvious to Lofty that Sacha viewed the Keller staff who’d been there when he arrived as family, and that Dom felt the same way - even if he refused to acknowledge it by the light of day.

Lofty couldn’t imagine how Sacha was feeling - how he must have felt, when he found out what Isaac had done, all those months before.

Not that those feelings could touch the maelstrom clearly still battering around inside Dom.

Anyway, the second transfer.

Sacha had taken Dom aside at some point, Lofty was pretty sure, and had a chat, because Dom had taken his last break of the shift at just the right moment to avoid seeing Isaac be wheeled back out of the ward. He’d been looking less ill, by then, the rhythm of work getting him a little closer to normal.

Lofty felt his fingers twitch, just a little, at the sight of the man in the bed. He kept his cool, in the end.

“He’s not worth it,” said Sacha, rubbing his own hands together. His eyes were distant; Lofty imagined they were both entertaining visions of a reality where hurting Isaac fucking Mayfield wouldn’t get them struck off.

They watched in silence until Isaac was gone. It felt a little anticlimactic, in the end.

That was probably for the best, Lofty reflected. It was bad enough to have him in the hospital. Much better to let any potential confrontation fizzle out; leave Isaac disappointed.

He’d clearly wanted to start _something_. Lofty couldn’t even articulate how proud he was that Dom had put him so firmly in his place. He’d been watching from the side bay door, carefully unobtrusive, just in case.

It was unsettling just how many feelings Dom could incite in Lofty. Unsettling, and maybe inevitable.

Sacha sighed in relief as the lift slid shut. His shoulders sagged, a release of tension Lofty had barely registered. “Right,” he said, passing a hand over his face. “Right. Time to get some bloody work done.”

“Only half an hour until we can have a drink,” Lofty pointed out, tugging at the hem of his scrub shirt. “Albie’s or otherwise.”

That got a smile on Sacha’s face. “Excellent point, Nurse Chiltern.” He turned, suddenly. “Ah, Meena. Any news on Mrs Thomas?”

Meena held up a blue box file. “Looks like a textbook case of acute cholecystitis,” she said breathlessly. Lofty wasn’t sure he’d ever heard someone that excited over gallbladder irritation, but then he’d never been an F1. Maybe every medical complaint was like a whole new world. “Removal seems like the best course of action.”

“Alright,” said Sacha. “You go chat to Mrs Thomas about the surgical options. I’m going off shift in about twenty minutes; I’ll see if we can fit her into the schedule tomorrow, alright?”

“Thanks Mr Levy,” said Meena. She glanced around, then leaned in. “Um, is Doctor Copeland alright? I haven’t seen him around much today, and I know he’s been on shift all morning.”

“He’ll be fine,” Sacha replied. “Just not the best day today, I think.”

“Oh, okay,” said Meena. “Well, let him know I hope he feels better by tomorrow.”

“Will do, Meena.”

She walked off, a bounce visible in her step.

“She’s a real breath of fresh air, huh,” said Lofty with a grin.

Sacha shook his head, huffed a laugh. “She and Doctor McKendrick both.”

The next twenty minutes sped past, of course. Dom emerged from the staff room with a slightly feverish gleam, but managed to finish the shift with barely a waver.

Lofty sighed with relief as the door to the locker room swung shut behind them.

He sort of wanted to say something inane, a ‘what a day!’, or ‘well, glad that’s over’, but - that would probably have been in poor taste. He really was glad it was over, though. The tension in Dom had been slowly bleeding away in the last twenty minutes, but it was nowhere near all gone.

Lofty doubted it would be for a little while yet.

They changed in the still quiet of the room, undisturbed except for the rustle of scrubs being packed away.

It was into this silence that Lofty dropped the suggestion, “Albie’s?”

Dom turned, halfway through buttoning his shirt. He smiled. “God, yes.”

Lofty’s mouth was dry. The glimpse of Dom’s bare chest through his shirt always reminded him of the one time they’d - well, you know. It was a pretty good memory.

“Right, well,” said Lofty, feeling his cheeks flush, powerless to stop it. “I- I think a drink is probably the least I could do for you after today.”

Dom shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about that anymore today.” He took a step closer, shirt fully buttoned, hair a little messy from pulling off his scrubs. “Mostly I want to say, um, thank you, again. You’ve been great today. You’ve been great forever, really. It’s ridiculous.” He smiled, small and genuine. “I think I’d be feeling a lot worse if you weren't here today.”

Lofty shrugged, helplessly. “It’s like I said. I - I wouldn’t be anywhere else. I couldn’t just… just not help you out. That’s not how it works.”

“Not how what works, Lofty?” Dom smiled again, tilted his head. Lofty couldn’t breathe, really.

Dom let out a breath. “Look, there’s something I think I should say,” he began, taking another step forward. Lofty collapsed back onto the bench, back resting against the lockers. The flickering light above them cast intermittent shadows on the walls. Dom sat down beside him, hands around his knees.

“Today has been, basically, awful,” he continued, tone deliberately light. Lofty was impressed by his facility for understatement. “But it was less awful than it could’ve been, maybe should’ve been, and it was because of you, and whenever my days are less than awful it’s usually at least partly down to you, and that’s something that isn’t going away anytime soon.” He glanced across at Lofty. The intermittent shadows had his mouth half in light and half not, and Lofty was finding it pretty difficult not to stare. “Do you understand what I mean?”

Lofty licked his lips. “I, um, think I’m beginning to get it,” he said, somewhat truthfully. “Could do with a bit more convincing, maybe.”

Dom laughed, softly. “Fishing, Lofty, is not your sport. But I think I could probably stretch at least a little bit further.” He leaned in close. “You basically improve my life by existing. It’s kind of stupid, really.”

“I don’t think so,” said Lofty, keeping still with a monumental effort. “And - same to you. Look, are you sure this is - a good time, for this?”

It wasn’t that Lofty didn’t want to kiss Dom. It was at least 15% of what he was thinking about at any given time, after all.

Dom rolled his eyes. “Is there ever a good time at this bloody hospital?”

“That’s fair,” said Lofty, contemplatively. “Do you think the rest of Bristol has to deal with half this shit?”

“Almost definitely not,” Dom said. He shut his eyes, briefly. “But I couldn’t leave this hospital. It’s - My family is here, you know. Most of the people who matter to me work somewhere in the building. That’s worth a bit of - a bit of fear, or sadness, or whatever, even on a weekly basis.”

Lofty swallowed, a lump forming in his throat. “You certainly have a way with words, Doctor Copeland.”

“Thanks, Lofty,” said Dom. The laugh lines at the corner of his eyes were cast into sharp relief by the flickering light. “Can I kiss you?”

 _Unfair_ , thought Lofty. _Really, horribly unfair_.

“The asking was never the issue,” said Lofty, on reflex. “It was the timing.”

“Oh, I know,” replied Dom. “Just want to make sure we get it right this time.”

Lofty smiled, helpless. Dom smiled back.

“Just so we’re clear,” said Lofty, as he leaned in. “This is for keeps, right?”

“For keeps,” Dom agreed. “I’d pinky promise, but I _am_  a grown up these days.”

“Is that so?” Lofty asked. He didn’t give Dom a chance to reply.

 

* * *

 

 

Drinks at Albie’s seemed like a logical progression from necking in the staff locker room. 

Dom smiled as Lofty held the door for him, a smile he hoped wasn’t broadcasting the message ‘thank you so much, man I just kissed in a locker room for a solid fifteen minutes, for your chivalry’ to the entire bar. He wasn’t ashamed, but there was a time and a place for public declarations and Albie’s at 4pm was neither.

“What’ll it be?” Lofty asked as they approached the bar, fiddling nervously with his wallet.

“Surprise me,” said Dom, cheerfully. “I’m sure you know what I like by now.”

With that, and a parting wink, he left to find Sacha and Essie. He still didn’t feel quite right, after the events of the day, but he certainly felt a lot better than he probably should have.

It was, he realised, almost like he was coping. It was an odd feeling, contrasted with the way he’d felt when he first saw the name on the admissions sheet that morning, but there was no denying that he’d coped far better with all of it than he’d expected to.

Hanssen’s insistence on counselling had been for a reason, it seemed. Not that Dom looked down on mental health initiatives. He’d just always had trouble applying those thoughts to himself, no matter how obvious it became that he probably should have.

“Hi, Essie,” he greeted as he dropped down onto a spare sofa. Essie was set up at the low table, handbag by her feet, hair down, feet curled up under herself.

“Hi, Dom,” she said, with a welcoming smile. “Not got a drink?” She asked, nodding towards his empty hands.

“Lofty’s sorting me out,” he replied with an involuntary smile. He could feel it spreading against his will, soft and happy.

“Oh, is he indeed.” Essie raised her eyebrows. Dom tried very hard to rein in his smile, with limited success.

Lofty chose that moment to appear, bearing two ciders. “Sorry, it’s not very surprising,” he said as he passed one to Dom. “I panicked a bit.”

“S’alright,” said Dom. “Nothing wrong with an old favourite.” He patted the sofa cushion beside him. “C’mon, take a seat. Time to drink away some of our troubles, in a very healthy and social way.”

“Sounds good to me,” said Essie, raising her own glass. Her eyes had lost some of the echoing sadness she’d been carrying around, but the traces of it remained.

Dom clinked their glasses together. “Cheers, Essie.”

“Cheers, Dom.” She smiled. “And cheers to you too, Lofty.”

Lofty looked up, a slightly panicked look in his eyes. He’d been contemplating his own cider with a serious expression. “Oh, right. Cheers, Essie. May this year be significantly better than the last.”

“Not that that’d be all that difficult,” said Dom. He leaned sideways, just slightly, let himself rest against Lofty’s side, soaking in the warmth. “Cheers, Lofty.”

“Cheers, Dom.” Lofty’s smile was even warmer than his side. His eyes crinkled at the corners.

Dom smiled back. He hoped it didn’t look half as smitten as he felt.

There was still a heavy feeling in his chest; he thought there might well be one for a while yet. But it was currently being dwarfed by the airy hope of a promising future, which was more than Dom could've said that morning.

He was, basically, okay. That was a good enough start.

**Author's Note:**

> 7000 words later! I hope this worked for you, dear reader, in the way it was intended: Dom has grown and healed a lot over the past several months of Holby City, and this is my best attempt at writing the premise 'What if Isaac came back as a patient?' with attendant Holby-style ignoring of probably extant actual hospital procedure for patients who have assaulted members of hospital staff. I still went with a transfer to another hospital though because, well: obviously? I'm fairly sure Sacha would be sharing Ric's cell if he had to operate on that piece of shit.
> 
> This is intended to echo the Holby City style of emotional dissonance, aka Bad Things Happen But Positive Relationship Developments Still Occur, a la most soaps, tbh. Hopefully this doesn't come off as dismissive of Dom's feelings, because that is the opposite of the author's Intent (tm). 
> 
> Dom and Lofty still have some things to work out, but hopefully they'll do it mostly in calm, honest conversations like the ones I attempted to write in here.
> 
> The title comes from jazz standard 'It's Only a Paper Moon'.
> 
> Thanks for reading! If you want to find me elsewhere, I'm on both tumblr and twitter as @dotsayers.


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